But neither do you, Zelig Garin. Neither do you.
*
Feeling utterly churned up, Esther was glad to retreat to her bed chamber at last—until she discovered who waited for her.
“Gretel,” she said blankly.
The maid stood ramrod straight before the dressing table. “Yes, Miss. The general sent me.”
Esther drew in her breath. “Gretel, you should know that I am not under any circumstances going to marry Prince Otto. I don’t know what—”
“Oh, thank God,” Gretel uttered, sinking onto the stool at the dressing table as if her knees had given way. Almost immediately, no doubt appalled by her own breach of etiquette, she sprang back up.
“Thank God?” Esther repeated bewildered. “Perhaps! But the thing is, I don’t know what the prince paid you. I do know my father and I can’t afford you. You may return to the prince or to wherever you wish. I will give you a reference since your work has always been exemplary, but—”
“You’re sending me away?” Gretel demanded, but she didn’t sound angry. She sounded sad, almost desperate.
Esther took a step closer, peering at her. “You were Otto’s servant, not mine,” she said reasonably.
Gretel shook her head. “He paid,” she admitted. “But I told him nothing. There was nothing to tell. And you wouldn’t listen.”
“Listen to what?” Esther asked, bewildered.
“Me! I tried to warn you not to go anywhere alone with him.”
Esther, who’d imagined her maid’s few abrupt words on the subject had been due to her strict sense of propriety, frowned with the effort of remembrance.
Gretel swallowed. “I knew what sort of a man he was. I knew he would hurt you in the end. I wish you had let me come with you.”
Ester approached her slowly. “You were looking out for me?” Not spying for him.
Gretel nodded once. “You are a kind mistress. The kindest I’ve known.”
Pity swamped Esther, along with guilt. She’d never felt particularly kindly toward the woman she’d suspected of being Otto’s creature, so God knew what the poor woman’s life had been like with her previous mistresses. She remembered Gretel painting the preparation on her wounded head and a hundred other small acts of care. And now that she looked at the woman, her eyes were not harsh, but veiled. Like Garin’s. Only with Gretel, she’d never looked beneath the surface.
Impulsively, Esther held out her hand. “Then stay if you will, at least until you find a position that will pay you more.”
Gretel grasped her fingers and curtseyed. A tear seemed likely to escape one corner of her eye. “Thank you, Miss,” she whispered.
Esther swallowed. “Thank you, Gretel.” She coughed and Gretel dropped her hand at once. “Um, my nightgown, if you please.”
*
According to Dietmar, when Zelig met up with him at the secret prison below the Vienna streets, where they stowed Prince Otto for the night, Weber had gone to ground. He knew Zelig would finish it and was ether in hiding or fled.
“Keep the guards in place at the summer palace until we have them both,” Zelig instructed. “I’m going for Meyer.”
“I’ll come with you,” Dietmar said at once.
“You have your orders,” Zelig snapped.
For an instant, Dietmar stared at him, as if for the first time in their relationship he were considering mutiny. Then he said, “Yes, sir. You take care, though. I don’t trust that bastard at all.”
“Neither should he trust me.”
Prince Otto kicked his door. “What about me?” he raged. “You can’t keep me here in this filth! I’m still the Crown Prince of Kriegenstein!”
“It’s not filthy,” Zelig said calmly. “You have food and a blanket, and it’s only for one night. Tomorrow, other men will decide your fate. I’ve had enough of you.”
“What are we charging him with?” Dietmar asked as they climbed from the gloom into the office above. “No one cares what he did with those girls. To the world, they’re only whores. We can’t even prove he struck Miss Lisle since she didn’t see him do it. And I don’t see Metternich allowing the murder charge, even the murder of himself, to sully his precious Congress.”
“That’s why other men will decide it, not lowly servants like us. Good night, Dietmar.”
“Good night, sir.”
Exhausted was no way in which to meet the most dangerous of his enemies, so Zelig took a cab to the Hofburg. On his way past, he saw the palace servants still busy at the Spanish Riding School, outside and in. Tomorrow night was the much vaunted Carrousel, which was to recreate a medieval tournament for the edification of the kings, the princes, and the delegates of the Congress. The city had been buzzing with expectation over the spectacle for weeks. For Zelig, it was just another security nightmare, another reason to finally finish the Otto-Meyer mess, and to cast Esther Lisle from his mind and duties so that he could concentrate on the safety of all at the Carousel.
It was a pleasing thought, in a grim kind of way, and helped sharpen his perceptions so that by the time he stepped down from the fiacre, the wind was able to blow the last of his tiredness into the night. He had the willpower to thrust his hurt and anger aside and to concentrate on the undoubtedly dangerous man he’d come to arrest.
Although he could hear only silence from Otto’s chamber, which was still occupied by Meyer, Zelig’s instinct warned him of human presence within. One man or several, he didn’t really care at that point. He was confident in his ability to deal with any or all of them, one way or another.
Since the handle turned easily when tested, he simply walked in without knocking.
Meyer sat behind his desk, facing him. As if prepared for company, he wore a black coat and an intricately tied cravat. By the lamp light, the angry whip welt in his pale cheek looked shockingly scarlet.
Although Meyer glanced up as Zelig strolled into the room, he didn’t look put out or even terribly surprised. He even smiled, replacing his pen in its stand.
“Ah, Herr Z. I was hoping you would call tonight.”
“They say you should be careful what you wish for.”
Meyer sat back in his chair as though supremely comfortable, even contented. “You are a man of great breadth of ability. I applaud you.”
Zelig stared at him. “Behold me, overcome with bashful gratitude.”
“Sarcasm is wasted on me, my friend. Have you come to arrest me?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
Meyer touched the welt on his face. “It was you driving the other carriage, was it not? I must admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Then in something at least we are even. I didn’t expect you to be on that road, not so close to Weber.”
“It was risky,” Meyer admitted. “But we almost succeeded. I thought we had covered all possible scenarios.”
“Do you have a plan for when you’re thrown in prison?” Zelig inquired.
“No. But then I don’t need one. You have no proof against me of any crime.”
Zelig curled his lip. “I am the secret police. I don’t need proof. You shot Otto of Kriegenstein. You conspired with Weber to kill Esther Lisle. You should hang.”
“But I won’t. You may have influence with Baron von Hager, but we all know there is another man with a great deal more clout—Prince von Metternich, who will permit no sordid crime to sully his precious Congress. Its reputation is already at a low ebb. He will not sink it with this nonsense. With no proof, he will release me.”
Zelig blinked. “Sir, Prince Metternich is a busy man. Neither the baron nor I feel it necessary to encumber him with the day-to-day trivia of policing the Congress. You should bring your coat. Though it isn’t far, the night is chilly.”
“Thank you for your care,” Meyer said politely. “In return, let me offer you an alternative scenario.”
Zelig sighed. “Save your breath. You cannot bribe me for the simple reason you have nothing that I want.”
“
Don’t I? What if I could give you your proof? And Weber. Yes, I know, you will find Weber in the end anyhow, but I can give him to you on a silver platter.” Meyer laughed gently. “Or at least a steel one. And I can make you a landed gentleman fit to aspire to any lady’s hand you wish.”
Pain clawed at Zelig’s stomach. Again, he had to thrust away the image of Esther Lisle. “I am not a marrying man.”
“Well, that is your affair, but you do seem to go to a lot of trouble to protect one lady at least.” Meyer leaned forward across the desk. “Sir, Z, whatever your name is, I can see you work yourself to the bone, and you are excellent at what you do. You keep Vienna safe, keep the Emperor and the Congress safe from every kind of enemy twenty-four hours a day, and all for a pittance of a salary and no acknowledgment. Soldiers, if they live, at least get the glory and the adulation. While even Baron von Hager is admired, you get nothing except the fastidious scorn of the nobility you protect.”
Zelig stared. “Only pass me your handkerchief and let me sob into it.”
“Listen to me,” Meyer said intensely, betraying real emotion for the first time in the encounter. “I understand, because I am in exactly the same boat. All my life I have served the King of Kriegenstein. When Napoleon made him a king, the king boosted his own importance by making me, his minister; a count. That’s the only gratitude I have ever received. He pays me no salary, makes me no gifts, and simply expects me to run his country, to ease his life, look after his interests at home and abroad, secure his line of succession, and even deal with his amorous mistakes! Like you, I never stop working. And then…”
He drew in his breath, and in spite of himself, Zelig waited.
“Then I learned that Prince Otto planned to replace me with a different minister. And the king is dying. It won’t be long. Otto would not even be the Crown Prince if it weren’t for me. And yet, they’d retire me with nothing. My own family lands were impoverished in their service; all for nothing.”
There was more here, much more. Zelig allowed himself to sit in the chair opposite Meyer. “And for this you decided to kill Otto?”
Meyer shook his head. “What is the point of revenge? I’d gain nothing except the possibility of the rope you offer me. No, I extracted a tiny favor from the king—one he felt able to grant because it cost him nothing. It would never even have to be fulfilled, or so he thought. If Otto dies without issue, I will receive his privately owned lands in Kriegenstein.”
Zelig curled his lip. “A more positive gain than barren revenge,” he allowed. “And what did the Prussians give you for allowing them across Kriegenstein’s border in the teeth of your king’s opposition?”
“More land and position in the expanded Prussia, of course, together with a royal, Prussian bride. Prussia has a great future. The little states of Germany will simply get swallowed up.”
“Well, you’ve certainly provided precedent for that—Kriegenstein and Saxony in one fell swoop. And no one could call Saxony a little state.” Zelig rose to his feet once more. “Thank you for your explanation. Are you ready to go now?”
“Wait. You haven’t yet heard my proposal,” Meyer urged.
“There’s a proposal as well? Will it take long? Perhaps you could make it on the way. We’ve both had a long day.”
“Sit back down, Herr Z—please. I think you will like this.”
Zelig sighed and sat. He was, in fact, intrigued.
As though satisfied, Meyer straightened in his chair. “Tomorrow night is the Carousel, a recreation of jousting knights fighting for their queens of love. Otto was to have been one of those knights.”
“I know.”
Meyer smiled. “There is another knight I would have removed. Under cover of the fighting, of course.”
Zelig almost laughed. “Removed by me?”
“Of course not. By Weber. Whether or not you save the knight from him is up to you, but either way, you may catch Weber in the act.”
“On a steel platter,” Zelig quoted, eyeing Meyer with fascination. “You never stop, do you?”
“After this, I will. I’ll have everything I want, and unlike our own masters, I am quite prepared to reward those who help me. For once, you can be a public hero. Ladies like a hero. And with the land I am now in a position to give you—in Kriegenstein or Saxony, your choice—you will have independence and eligibility. You can throw your police position in Hager’s face and marry the lady—any lady—you wish.”
Zelig’s heartbeat quickened. His mind raced, clear as a bell. This could bring everything if he played it well. Dispassionately, he wondered how he would have reacted if he’d received the offer before finding Esther in Harry Niven’s arms. And ill-naturedly, he imagined her face on discovering he, too, was a gentleman. She would regret her choice and fall into his arms…only, on those terms, he wouldn’t have her.
Silly fantasy, quickly pierced with reality. God knew he would take her on any terms she would accept.
He stirred. “Which knight is it who Weber will kill?”
“The man who you said you would find for me. The man you said you had found, before…ah, more urgent events got in the way. He’s the King of Kriegenstein’s illegitimate son. No one knows Otto is dead. They imagine he’s simply holed up in some stew and can still play his part in the Carrousel. So put Garin in Otto’s armor. I imagine such a thing would not be difficult for a man in your position to accomplish.”
Suddenly, Zelig wanted to laugh. There would be no medieval suits of armor as Meyer seemed to imagine. Zelig said, “Just in case the King of Kriegenstein goes back on his word and gives Otto’s lands to Garin instead of to you?”
Meyer smiled. “I knew we would understand each other.” His eyes held Zelig’s. “We do understand each other, do we not?”
“I believe we do,” Zelig said.
Chapter Nineteen
Esther woke the following morning in her luxuriously comfortable bed in a stranger’s palace and sat bolt upright.
“I was not mistaken!” she said aloud.
True, she might not be the love of Garin’s life—yet—but he did like her. He had kissed her and she knew he’d liked that. Although she was well aware gentlemen’s kisses didn’t necessarily betoken affection or esteem, she knew instinctively that he cared at least a little.
And I care a lot. I will win him. I will…
On that decision, she threw off the covers and sprang out of bed to wash, dress, and face the day.
In the breakfast room, she found no sign of Lizzie or Vanya, but Countess Savarina and her companion were partaking of eggs and toast. They greeted each other politely, and Esther sat down to join them.
“Tonight is the Carrousel,” Countess Savarina offered discontented, “and I particularly wished to go.”
“So did I,” Esther admitted. Prince Otto had boasted of being picked as one of the knights to fight at the tournament. She wondered who would take his place, and what Garin had done with him, having brought him to Vienna. “It should be something quite out of the ordinary.”
“And we are the only people who do not get to see the spectacle, just because that police agent cannot do the work he is paid to!”
Esther began to flare up, her mouth already open to defend him and what he had done for them, before she remembered she was still angry with him for not listening to her, and for thinking the worst of her with Lord Harry. She took a bite of toast instead and reached for her coffee.
After breakfast, the Countess joined her in a turn around the pretty gardens. In this environment the redoubtable lady seemed much more charming, interesting herself in Esther’s life in Spain and Kriegenstein, and discussing the Congress in a manner that showed her to be far more intelligent and perceptive than Esther had first imagined. But then, she suspected Vanya, with all his easy going hedonism, was no fool either. He was a colonel of the Tsar’s army and enjoyed the distinction of being regarded as a hero by both his own men and the Tsar himself. Plus, he’d found the spy who’d plagued
the Congress in its early weeks.
On the other hand, when Lizzie and Vanya joined them, the Countess resumed her complaint about being prevented from attending the Carrousel.
“I did so want to go, too,” Lizzie said.
“Well, we can go,” Vanya said unwisely. “No one wants to kill us.”
Lizzie brightened. “Do you suppose we could smuggle in the children somehow? They would love such a spectacle.”
While the Countess’ eyes narrowed with jealous indignation, Vanya appeared to bend his mind to serious consideration of Lizzie’s suggestion. “Possibly…”
“There is that man again,” the Countess interrupted unclearly. “Vanya, have a word with him because I refuse to be imprisoned, even in this gilded cage.”
“I’m afraid the cage is your own fault,” Vanya said.
Esther barely listened to the ensuing argument for she’d seen the man Countess Savarina meant. Garin Zelig strode into her line of vision, his eyes scanning the boundary wall while he listened to one of the men who had, presumably, been guarding the place since last night.
“Hello!” Vanya greeted him, waving. “Over here.”
Garin nodded once, although it wasn’t clear whether to his henchman or to Vanya. Certainly, he continued his conversation for several moments before he turned and strode along the ornamental path toward them.
Her heart drumming foolishly, Esther, turned her back, and gave her attention to a late blooming rose.
“How are you, Herr Schmidt?” Lizzie asked.
But before Garin could respond—if, indeed, he meant to—the Countess interrupted. “My good man, why may we not attend the Carrousel this evening?”
“Go if you wish,” Garin said carelessly. Even with her back to him, Esther was sure he shrugged.
“You mean you have the miscreants under lock and key already?” Vanya asked, clearly impressed.
“It’s in hand. If you stay here for today, you should all be safe enough by evening to attend the Carrousel. It will be saturated with police.”
“Will you be there?” Lizzie asked.
“I will be in attendance, yes,” Garin said, just a little stiffly.
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